Ok, you decide which is worse.
Mutant teenager "A":
Trial date: a few days ago
Charge: Possession of a small amount of controlled substance
Disposition: Continued.
Reason: The Probation officer and defense attorney just received that day of the trial a new set of charges against the same mutant for Possession with intent to deliver (a felony), in this case a different drug (pharmaceutical grade).
Background: Dad is retired from a big city PD, mom has several medical issues (hence is on a lot of nice prescription narcotics - candy for junior), and older sibling #1 is mentally handicapped, functions at a job, but also collects money from the state which goes into a jar on his dresser (funds for someones habit).
Mutant teenager "B" &"C":
The both go together. A few months ago "B" & "C" get into a snowball fight. Ok, harmless and most 13 year olds engage in such activity. Well, "C" apparently gets pisses off at "B" and decides to pick up a snow shovel and take a swing at him. "C" may have mad contact with "B" in the abdomen with the shovel but "B" says F*** this and slugs "C" in the face and leaves a nice shiner. Since "C" is a sore loser, and probably pissed because he had a weapon and still lost, he goes crying to mom. Well mom gets all bent out of shape and calls the Po-Po.
Ultimately "B" gets arrested for harassment because "C" has a nice mark left from "B" and a few witnesses observed "B" hit "C." Only "B" offers up the info that "C" took a swing at him with a shovel first, no one saw that (B.S.). So how do we resolve this? Simple. Arrest them both for Disorderly Conduct and yell at them both for being jack asses.
Mutant teenagers "D" & "E":
A long story in a nutshell: both in 9th grade and at school. "D" nails "E" on the head and face a few times in the hall between classes.
Ok, I speak to the victim first, "What happened?"
"I was walking down the hall and was hit in the head from behind. I turned around and saw this kid. I yelled at him, but didn't want to get involved so I ran to my next class."
OK, now move to the next change of classes in the hallway.
"I was going to last period and when I came down the hall this kid was there and he started hitting me."
"Ok, do you know him?'
"No."
B.S. B.S. B.S.
Now, I hate that, and hear it all the time. Oh, I was just walking....minding my own business....and this person hit me for no reason and I don't even know that person. WHAT A CROCK!
Well, as far as this case goes, "D" sat there and lied out his ass to me, stating that he didn't do anything. All the time "D" is talking to me, I'm watching the video footage from the cameras in the hallway and I can clearly see "D" doing a number on "E." Poor "D" thought he was pulling one over on me until I called him to the carpet and flipped the monitor around and showed him the video. Needless to say, he had nothing further to say.
As a sidebar to "D" & "E," their parents are just as big of mutants. "D's" mom is "at her wits end" and doesn't know what to do. She is thinking on "putting him in one of those special schools." Yeah, real good mom. Be a parent and take charge. Do something. Work with him. Let's try something other than just moving the problem out of view and placing him in a room with total mutants so they just feed off of each others jack hole tendencies.
As far as "E's" mutant parents, they come to the school screaming bloody murder because she is terrified of revenge against her and her son by "D's" friends and wants to know what the school will do to keep the people away from their house. Ok, calm down. First, the school isn't doing shit outside of the school as their hands are full inside. Second, the Po-Po handle stuff about town. And gee, lady, you called the Po-Po to see what was happening with the case, call the Po-Po is the mutants attack. What a concept.
Ok. Enough kid talk for now. More to follow.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
In dire need of an update
So, many happenings in the last month. I need to keep up on this. And so we have it. The current holder of the "Mutant of the Year Award" goes to....
Occupation: Middle School Principal
Salary: $97,660.00
Tenure: 20 years
Criminal offense: Being apprehended in his office with $200.00 in marked bills acquired from selling crystal methamphetamine.
MUTANT STATUS: Found in his office with lit candles, watching gay porn, naked, wearing a cock ring, and playing with a penis pump.
HE WINS!
Occupation: Middle School Principal
Salary: $97,660.00
Tenure: 20 years
Criminal offense: Being apprehended in his office with $200.00 in marked bills acquired from selling crystal methamphetamine.
MUTANT STATUS: Found in his office with lit candles, watching gay porn, naked, wearing a cock ring, and playing with a penis pump.
HE WINS!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Weekly Winners
None so extraordinary as to win a spot of their own, so in lieu of I ask:
Why would you call the Police? Robbery? Theft? Assault? Witnessing a homicide? Auto accident? Vandalism? All reasonable and legitimate circumstances to dial those 3 digits on the telephone that summons aide.
NOT OUR MUTANTS.
The old message has been replaced. "To Serve and Protect" has transcended to "Living Your Life Because You Don't Know How To."
Callous you say? Cynical perhaps? Downright sarcastic even?
"Yes, hello. I'm stuck. Been stuck for 45 minutes, I need help." or something so similar the caller tells the dispatch center.
".....go to ***** caller stated he's been stuck in the snow for 45 minutes..." comes across the radio.
"10-4" ("ok", for the non-jargon types)
"So, how did you do this?" I inquire, more than a little peeved as I look at the late 1990's model BMW, rear wheel drive, tires not touching the ground as the car is supported a few centimeters off the road surface by a rather large mound of snow.
"Well, I thought I could get through. I tried pushing it, but it wouldn't move"
"Hmm." or some such sound emanates from my throat as I look at his nice Oxford shoes, dress shirt, tie, slacks, and London Fog coat. "Do you have AAA?"
"Yes, I do" he stated matter-of-factly.
"Ok, so why did you call the police?"
"Well, I'm stuck."
Not really wanting to spend more time than would make me want to do something silly with my sidearm, I asked, "have you tried reverse?"
???
"guess not, let's give it a whirl."
"Ok"
WOW. Look at that! It worked.
There was more to it, but not worth going in to or discussing more. Beyond the usual idiopathic (that's my created word there) tendencies of the public at large in a snow and ice storm, I did find myself giving advice to someone who was a social worker for 10 years. Or, so she claimed.
Basically, the story is simple. Son comes home from rehab. (Come on, give him credit, he's trying). Son gets upset because step-dad is "abusing"mom. Step-dad still goes to the methadone clinic once a week. Mom doesn't know what to do, she argues with step-dad all the time. Oops, mom hasn't been taking her medication lately either. Perhaps there should be a family sit down around the methadone jug.
Anyway, without trying to relate the 40 minutes I stayed in this family's love nest, the nuts and bolts is thus: mom has been feeding son and step-dad two different lines of crap. Son and step-dad don't seem to have a great relationship but alas, I have figured out that their relationship sucks because mom is all screwed up. Son and step-dad talk civilly to each other while I'm there and both realize that mom has been telling them different stories. Meanwhile, mom cries to me because she doesn't work now, doesn't know what to do, wants to know what the next step is, AND she didn't even call the police, her son did but realized that there was no need to, once he started talking to his family.
"Ok, have you considered counselling?"
"Well, I was a social worker for 10 years."
"So, you should be very experienced with talking to people and solving problems, right? Have you tried talking to your family?"
"Well, it never seems to work. Can you tell me what I should do now?"
"You do realize that police are not therapists?"
"Yes, but what is the next step?"
"TALK TO YOUR FAMILY!!!!!!!!! You all have issues and need to sit down and talk."
"Oh, you're right."
"See, your son and husband are talking nicely right now. In fact, they are, at this very movement, discovering that you have been feeding them both shit."
"Oh, well....."
"So I suggest you all sit and YOU had better be honest with them."
"I know, you're right."
"Good bye."
Amazing.
Why would you call the Police? Robbery? Theft? Assault? Witnessing a homicide? Auto accident? Vandalism? All reasonable and legitimate circumstances to dial those 3 digits on the telephone that summons aide.
NOT OUR MUTANTS.
The old message has been replaced. "To Serve and Protect" has transcended to "Living Your Life Because You Don't Know How To."
Callous you say? Cynical perhaps? Downright sarcastic even?
"Yes, hello. I'm stuck. Been stuck for 45 minutes, I need help." or something so similar the caller tells the dispatch center.
".....go to ***** caller stated he's been stuck in the snow for 45 minutes..." comes across the radio.
"10-4" ("ok", for the non-jargon types)
"So, how did you do this?" I inquire, more than a little peeved as I look at the late 1990's model BMW, rear wheel drive, tires not touching the ground as the car is supported a few centimeters off the road surface by a rather large mound of snow.
"Well, I thought I could get through. I tried pushing it, but it wouldn't move"
"Hmm." or some such sound emanates from my throat as I look at his nice Oxford shoes, dress shirt, tie, slacks, and London Fog coat. "Do you have AAA?"
"Yes, I do" he stated matter-of-factly.
"Ok, so why did you call the police?"
"Well, I'm stuck."
Not really wanting to spend more time than would make me want to do something silly with my sidearm, I asked, "have you tried reverse?"
???
"guess not, let's give it a whirl."
"Ok"
WOW. Look at that! It worked.
There was more to it, but not worth going in to or discussing more. Beyond the usual idiopathic (that's my created word there) tendencies of the public at large in a snow and ice storm, I did find myself giving advice to someone who was a social worker for 10 years. Or, so she claimed.
Basically, the story is simple. Son comes home from rehab. (Come on, give him credit, he's trying). Son gets upset because step-dad is "abusing"mom. Step-dad still goes to the methadone clinic once a week. Mom doesn't know what to do, she argues with step-dad all the time. Oops, mom hasn't been taking her medication lately either. Perhaps there should be a family sit down around the methadone jug.
Anyway, without trying to relate the 40 minutes I stayed in this family's love nest, the nuts and bolts is thus: mom has been feeding son and step-dad two different lines of crap. Son and step-dad don't seem to have a great relationship but alas, I have figured out that their relationship sucks because mom is all screwed up. Son and step-dad talk civilly to each other while I'm there and both realize that mom has been telling them different stories. Meanwhile, mom cries to me because she doesn't work now, doesn't know what to do, wants to know what the next step is, AND she didn't even call the police, her son did but realized that there was no need to, once he started talking to his family.
"Ok, have you considered counselling?"
"Well, I was a social worker for 10 years."
"So, you should be very experienced with talking to people and solving problems, right? Have you tried talking to your family?"
"Well, it never seems to work. Can you tell me what I should do now?"
"You do realize that police are not therapists?"
"Yes, but what is the next step?"
"TALK TO YOUR FAMILY!!!!!!!!! You all have issues and need to sit down and talk."
"Oh, you're right."
"See, your son and husband are talking nicely right now. In fact, they are, at this very movement, discovering that you have been feeding them both shit."
"Oh, well....."
"So I suggest you all sit and YOU had better be honest with them."
"I know, you're right."
"Good bye."
Amazing.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Memorable exploit of the week
So, what would you do for an 84 year old female laying buck-ass naked on the bathroom floor. Well, help her up of course. Any civilized person would do that, wouldn't they? Or perhaps get a robe or something so she could cover up?
In I enter, after painstakingly deciphering the cryptic notes on my computer terminal on just how I am to find the key to enter the dwelling. Fumbling to find a light switch I can hear the ramblings of Jerry Seinfeld, ah...the TV is on. Calling out, announcing my presence as an "official" I finally hear a voice not coming from the tube, "In here...in the bathroom." I flinch. No, not THE BATHROOM. I close my eyes and pause. Slowly I make my way down the hall to the light emanating from an open doorway. "Police" I yell again. "In here." Desperation is heard in the voice. As I slowly peer my head around the doorway, "Oh no. NO NO NO," my brain screams.
"Are you hurt?" A normal question to ask.
"No. GET ME UP!! My neck hurts from laying here."
"Are you Hurt from the fall?"
"No. Just get me up."
"Ok. Can you wait a few seconds until another officer arrives? It will be easier for you if two people assist you getting up."
"Ok, ok. If it won't be too long," she snaps as I see the cruiser of my partner pull up.
"I'm going to go let the other officer in through the front door," I say, walking away quickly.
"Better get gloves," I tell my partner.
In we go, gloved, protected. Where are the blackout glasses from 'Hitchhikers Guide' I wonder to myself going back to that place I'd rather forget.
"Ok ma'am, we have your arms and on '3' we're going to lift. are you ready?"
"Just go, get me up," she barks.
To an upright position we get her, but she keeps her back arched back, not getting upright on her own and refusing to move.
"Stop pulling me!"
"We're not, we're holding you so you don't fall back. You're not standing straight."
As she fumbles relentlessly, grabbing my arm, letting go to grab the door frame, to clutching the cable that connects the microphone of my hand-held radio to the unit attached on my utility belt. "What's that?!?"
"It's my radio ma'am, you're still not standing, are you ok?"
"Just stop pulling!"
"We're not, you're still leaning back."
"Get me to my bedroom, I need to sit on the bed."
"Ok, which one is the bedroom? Can you stand up straight?"
"Stop pulling!"
"We're not!!!!"
"Get me to my bed!"
"Ok, can you stand up straight yet?"
"I can't concentrate, you ask too many questions. Stop babbling."
"Ok, but can you stand up straight? How do you move around on your own?" I ask, as I see a disused walker and wheelchair with many months of dust covering them.
"I need to get to my room, I have to lay down."
"Ok, we're trying." As we now start to pull, for real this time as mounting frustration grows.
"Stop pulling!!!!!"
"Stand up!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Just get me to my room!"
"OK!!!!!!! WE'RE TRYING, BUT YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" I yell.
Finally, a breakthrough, as we get her motor running and the feet begin to move, one in front of the other while still maintaining an arched back, leaning backwards of course, that we are HOLDING up.
"Stop pulling!"
"Just get in your room!"
Oops, we now made it through the threshold of the bedroom door, and surprisingly enough, I was cut off by our helpless Fraulein. Now only she and my partner are in the bedroom as I loom in the doorway watching, unable to assist.
"Get me on my bed."
Ok, I think to myself, there is only one way this can go as I see it, considering that she and my partner are side-by-side, facing the bed and no way for me to get in and no way for him to change position supporting her without letting her go.
Yes, a nice little waltz as they spin like synchronized ballroom dancers, buttocks now towards the long sought after bed. But now what, still can't let go.
Yup, my partner and her both simultaneously flop down, like a pair of newlyweds, on the bed falling slightly backwards as they land.
"Ok, anything else?" my partner blurted quickly as he lunged from the bed to about 5 feet away.
"ring...ring."
"Answer the phone."
?
Ok.......
"Alright, anything else?"
"I need a drink. Get me my drink."
"ok, here you go, here's your water. Is that all?"
"Get me some underpants, and a pad."
???????
"What?!?"
"Get me some underpants, and the pads should be in the bathroom."
Ok, well, how about the underpants then? Just rummage around and fine some I guess.
"Ok, here you go. Anything else?"
"Get these on me."
"What?"
"My underpants."
Uh, I really need to go now. "Ok, look mam, we really can't stay to help you live your life. If you think you need any medical assistance, we can get an ambulance for you."
"No, just get my underpants on. And get the phone again."
??
"Hello."
Ah, lifeline contacted her "close friend" that she has listed, maybe they can come over to help her.
"...no, she's ok but probably could use some assistance, do you live nearby?"
"New York."
?!?!?!?!?!
Nevermind.
"Ok, we're leaving now. You have your water, underpants, pad, and you're in bed. If you have an emergency and need medical assistance, call 911."
"Make sure you close and lock up the doors. And turn the TV off, I don't want to hear that Jerry person."
Gee, ok, want a cheese omelet too?
Well, you decide. Mutant or zombie?
In I enter, after painstakingly deciphering the cryptic notes on my computer terminal on just how I am to find the key to enter the dwelling. Fumbling to find a light switch I can hear the ramblings of Jerry Seinfeld, ah...the TV is on. Calling out, announcing my presence as an "official" I finally hear a voice not coming from the tube, "In here...in the bathroom." I flinch. No, not THE BATHROOM. I close my eyes and pause. Slowly I make my way down the hall to the light emanating from an open doorway. "Police" I yell again. "In here." Desperation is heard in the voice. As I slowly peer my head around the doorway, "Oh no. NO NO NO," my brain screams.
"Are you hurt?" A normal question to ask.
"No. GET ME UP!! My neck hurts from laying here."
"Are you Hurt from the fall?"
"No. Just get me up."
"Ok. Can you wait a few seconds until another officer arrives? It will be easier for you if two people assist you getting up."
"Ok, ok. If it won't be too long," she snaps as I see the cruiser of my partner pull up.
"I'm going to go let the other officer in through the front door," I say, walking away quickly.
"Better get gloves," I tell my partner.
In we go, gloved, protected. Where are the blackout glasses from 'Hitchhikers Guide' I wonder to myself going back to that place I'd rather forget.
"Ok ma'am, we have your arms and on '3' we're going to lift. are you ready?"
"Just go, get me up," she barks.
To an upright position we get her, but she keeps her back arched back, not getting upright on her own and refusing to move.
"Stop pulling me!"
"We're not, we're holding you so you don't fall back. You're not standing straight."
As she fumbles relentlessly, grabbing my arm, letting go to grab the door frame, to clutching the cable that connects the microphone of my hand-held radio to the unit attached on my utility belt. "What's that?!?"
"It's my radio ma'am, you're still not standing, are you ok?"
"Just stop pulling!"
"We're not, you're still leaning back."
"Get me to my bedroom, I need to sit on the bed."
"Ok, which one is the bedroom? Can you stand up straight?"
"Stop pulling!"
"We're not!!!!"
"Get me to my bed!"
"Ok, can you stand up straight yet?"
"I can't concentrate, you ask too many questions. Stop babbling."
"Ok, but can you stand up straight? How do you move around on your own?" I ask, as I see a disused walker and wheelchair with many months of dust covering them.
"I need to get to my room, I have to lay down."
"Ok, we're trying." As we now start to pull, for real this time as mounting frustration grows.
"Stop pulling!!!!!"
"Stand up!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Just get me to my room!"
"OK!!!!!!! WE'RE TRYING, BUT YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" I yell.
Finally, a breakthrough, as we get her motor running and the feet begin to move, one in front of the other while still maintaining an arched back, leaning backwards of course, that we are HOLDING up.
"Stop pulling!"
"Just get in your room!"
Oops, we now made it through the threshold of the bedroom door, and surprisingly enough, I was cut off by our helpless Fraulein. Now only she and my partner are in the bedroom as I loom in the doorway watching, unable to assist.
"Get me on my bed."
Ok, I think to myself, there is only one way this can go as I see it, considering that she and my partner are side-by-side, facing the bed and no way for me to get in and no way for him to change position supporting her without letting her go.
Yes, a nice little waltz as they spin like synchronized ballroom dancers, buttocks now towards the long sought after bed. But now what, still can't let go.
Yup, my partner and her both simultaneously flop down, like a pair of newlyweds, on the bed falling slightly backwards as they land.
"Ok, anything else?" my partner blurted quickly as he lunged from the bed to about 5 feet away.
"ring...ring."
"Answer the phone."
?
Ok.......
"Alright, anything else?"
"I need a drink. Get me my drink."
"ok, here you go, here's your water. Is that all?"
"Get me some underpants, and a pad."
???????
"What?!?"
"Get me some underpants, and the pads should be in the bathroom."
Ok, well, how about the underpants then? Just rummage around and fine some I guess.
"Ok, here you go. Anything else?"
"Get these on me."
"What?"
"My underpants."
Uh, I really need to go now. "Ok, look mam, we really can't stay to help you live your life. If you think you need any medical assistance, we can get an ambulance for you."
"No, just get my underpants on. And get the phone again."
??
"Hello."
Ah, lifeline contacted her "close friend" that she has listed, maybe they can come over to help her.
"...no, she's ok but probably could use some assistance, do you live nearby?"
"New York."
?!?!?!?!?!
Nevermind.
"Ok, we're leaving now. You have your water, underpants, pad, and you're in bed. If you have an emergency and need medical assistance, call 911."
"Make sure you close and lock up the doors. And turn the TV off, I don't want to hear that Jerry person."
Gee, ok, want a cheese omelet too?
Well, you decide. Mutant or zombie?
Welcome
Welcome....To the first entry of my new blog. Why? Because everyone else is doing it and I feel left out. So, why the titles I chose? First, "strange wine" comes from a short story by a favorite author of mine, Harlan Ellison. Yes, I "stole" the name, but I like it and if Harlan doesn't, he can sue me. Why the blog title "Notes from the Mutant Zombie Invasion?" Well, it's simple. The invasion has already occurred and we're all in the middle of it. As I've come to find out over the years from reading the news, listening to the radio, and watching the "Glass Teat (yes, that came from Harlan too)" mutants have taken over society and the rest of us have become zombies. This revelation has become even more obvious to me since embarking on my new career in Law Enforcement and dealing with "mutants" on a daily basis. So, what better forum to show everyone the absurdity that exists than to share some of my more memorable exploits than on a blog for the world to see. Additionally, I can post my ramblings that no one else wants to hear, but I know many would read, considering the amount of useless junk I read each day on the Internet.
So, sit back, grab a really hot cup of tea, and have a read.
So, sit back, grab a really hot cup of tea, and have a read.
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